


Ways To Go

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Smart Sam, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean doesn't check in at the appointed time while on a joint exercise with Crowley, the demon calls Sam for backup.  Set after 9.13 "The Purge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways To Go

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a couple of prompts on tumblr - one from dreamscape-inkscape looking for a conversation between Dean and Sam addressing some of the issues between them, and one from king-of-blood-and-bone looking for Sam using his big shiny beautiful brilliant brain to solve the case. 
> 
> It may come off as harsh on Dean; if you follow me on tumblr I know I've been doing that a lot lately. I think Sam is saying things that he needs to be said very plainly, though, and I think if you pay close attention Dean may actually be listening this time. It's not exactly a fix-it fic, but I think it's a foundation.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Sam settled into one of the chairs in the library. It wasn’t the chair he’d fallen asleep in last night and that was a conscious choice on his part. He knew he had a tendency to fall into habits and patterns and he didn’t want to get too used to one particular spot, one particular place. It was bad enough that he had one room to which he theoretically returned, although he really mostly just put his crap there when he was done with it and changed in there to keep from being naked in public. Not that there was much more “public” to be naked in front of. Cas was off chasing angels, Kevin was dead (not going to think about it, not going to think about it, not going to think about it) and Dean was off running errands for Crowley again.

There was a shocker – speaking of things that Sam should really find a distraction rather than think about. Dean had gone off saying that he was going to find Gadreel and exact some kind of retribution for Kevin. Okay, whatever. If that was what Dean had to do to put things right in his own conscience, that was what he had to do. God – or whoever – knew that he wasn’t about to admit that he’d been wrong to do what he did to Sam, but at least he admitted that what he’d done had gotten Kevin killed. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just decided that like the “good” big brother he was he just needed to go and clean up Sam’s mess again. Who knew? Of course if he’d just stood back and not interfered, let Sam finish the damn Trials in the first place none of this – none of it – would be a problem. Crowley would be human, Kevin would be alive and Sam himself would be well past worrying about angels or demons or Peruvian fat suckers or whatever. 

His phone rang. He jumped, not really expecting the call at two o’clock in the morning. He shook his head and glanced at the screen. “Ugh,” he said out loud. How Crowley even had his number was beyond him. “Hi, Crowley,” he answered, getting his temper under control. The demon had been invaluable in ejecting Gadreel, after all, being the only reason he even knew he was possessed in the first place. “What’s going on?”

“Good evening, Samantha,” the smooth if smarmy voice greeted. “I trust I haven’t interrupted your beauty sleep.” 

“No, I was up.” 

The tone shifted to one of concern. “Sam, it’s two in the morning. You should really be sleeping.” Concern from Crowley? Maybe he’d get a congratulatory telegram from Bartholomew next. Meg had told him she’d send him a fruit basket once, not that she’d gotten around to that.

“I’m bad at sleep, Crowley. I’ve always been. Ask Dean.”

Sam could hear the grimace in the demon’s face as he responded. “Well, that’s sort of why I’m calling you, Moose.”

He tried to ignore the cold knot in the middle of his stomach. “What happened to Dean?”

“I’m not entirely certain. He was supposed to check in by eight o’clock local time. It’s one AM now and I’m becoming concerned.”

“And you can’t find him.” “Well no, it seems some brilliant soul went and made a marvelous little hex bag for him that works a little too well. No, I can’t find him.”

“Yeah. That would be… I guess those things have held up pretty well, huh?” He ran his hand through his hair. At least he’d done something right. Of course, the something he’d done right had turned out to be wrong but at least he’d gotten the mechanics down. It was the little things really. Baby steps.

“When you learn magic from a powerful demon and witch like her the stuff tends to work, Sam. Those hex bags have held up. They’ll continue to hold up long past the point where your bones have dissolved into dust. Now since your clever little hex bag is inhibiting me from finding Dean myself I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for your assistance. Do you think you could be ever so kind?”

“Right. Um, yeah. Two questions. One – what are you looking for?”

“What am I looking for?” “I’ve got the biggest supernatural library in the world right here. Tell me what you’re looking for and I can bring some research materials to help in the search.” He looked around at the books around him like the right volume would somehow magically, mystically present itself. It was stupid, of course. It was the Men of Letters’ super secret underground lair, not freaking Hogwarts. 

“Um, I’m not sure, actually. That was part of the problem. We were looking at businessmen who had gotten greedy and then had unexpected bad years. That’s about all we had to go on.” 

“Bad investments and that’s it? Dean got out of bed for a bad run on the stock market?” He turned to look at the phone. Maybe Dean was getting a little hunt-crazy lately but this was taking it to an extreme. 

“Well it’s not like the bunker’s been all that cozy lately, is it?” The leer was practically visible even over the airwaves. “There are mice involved, apparently. Oh, and the men have died. A slight outbreak of Hanta virus.”

“Hanta virus.”

“Right. Hanta virus. Very exciting, isn’t it? It sometimes happens around here – it crops up in the local rodent population and it’s treatable, you know. I think we’ve only had one death which is terribly disappointing, but with all of these other deaths it doesn’t seem to be coincidental.” 

Sam rubbed at his face and tried to re-tune his mental engine for working with demons. Their priorities weren’t exactly aligned the same way humans’ were, and shouting about how maybe the Hanta virus and the rodent population explosion were maybe a little more significant than a few local business owners having bad years wasn’t going to adjust anyone’s thinking. “Is there anything else?” 

“Well, there was a feather at one of the scenes.”

He sat straight up. “A feather?”

“Not an angel feather. That would stand out. I’m not precisely new at this you know. It’s got a very different feel. A little sulfuric, but not one of mine.” 

He sighed. “All right. Where are you?” 

“Hampton Inn, Tucumcari, New Mexico.” 

“Right. Seems a little upscale for Dean, doesn’t it?”

“But not for me, Moose. It’s a bit of a compromise, I’m sure, but there is only so much sleaze and desperation to which I can be expected to subject myself.” 

“All right. I’ll see you in about eight hours.” He hung up the phone. 

Of course, almost all of his good weapons were in the Impala. He looked at his laptop. On a hunch, he plugged in a few variables. He and Kevin had started work on a database of monsters and while they hadn’t gotten very far, they’d done some work. The database suggested that most of the monsters that would involve mice or rats and possibly a feather, along with the phrase “bad year” would be found in Central or Southwest Asia or the Middle East. He grabbed a few books off the shelf that he thought might be useful and carefully wrapped them. Then he grabbed his bags and went out into the night. 

He could have just taken one of the motorcycles. He’d gotten all of them running now, each and every one with Dean none the wiser. He just didn’t want to deal with Dean bitching if he managed to find him and Sam decided to drive home alone. No, he had a stolen car hidden away down here, a nice and anonymous Honda that was a little cramped but could accommodate his iPod just fine. He wouldn’t mind leaving it behind if he needed to. He had a few weapons; he grabbed a few more to include a couple of angel blades (when had they gotten so many?) and an extra case of consecrated iron bullets on a hunch. 

The drive was long, but he didn’t mind really. He liked driving. He found a drive through pretty quickly to get coffee and honestly, the music on his iPod kept him from having to think too much. He was going to find Dean. That was enough. Whatever else had happened – and “bitter” didn’t even begin to describe it – Dean was still his brother. By the time ten thirty rolled around he was pulling into the parking space beside the Impala and dialing Crowley. “Which room are you in?”

“Two thirty one.”

He hung up. This was probably a bad idea. He knew it was probably a bad idea. After all, this was Crowley. He’d screwed them over before. Hadn’t getting Dean to take on the Mark of Cain been a huge con job? And Sam didn’t even have Ruby’s knife. It was just another of the things that Dean had decided was his at the end of the day, in case he needed to kill his monstrous brother or something. Still, what the hell, right? He’d gotten the tattoo replaced, and gotten it enhanced besides. The worst Crowley could do was to kill him. If he managed that he’d find a way to send the demon a potted plant from the beyond. 

Sadly Crowley didn’t seem to be inclined to murder him today. He greeted him politely enough, opening the door to his room and ushering him inside. “All right. Talk to me, Crowley.” 

“Not much on the small talk, are we, Moose?” He’d dressed in his customary full suit as always, right down to the flower. Sam was pretty sure that there was a story behind the flower. He was equally sure that he didn’t want to know the story behind the flower. 

“How long have you known me, Crowley?”

“Valid.” He gestured and the door to the adjoining room swung open. “That’s your brother’s room. Bed’s not been slept in but he seems to have been drinking when he went out. Wallet is missing as is a box of condoms, which means that the little talk we had earlier that day actually penetrated that Cro-Magnon skull of his.” 

“Crowley?” Sam interrupted, holding up one hand. 

“Yes?” 

“Gross.”

“Look, you should know these things. He’s taking idiotic risks, Sam. How long’s it been since he was on the sauce like this? Since before Purgatory?” The demon raised an elegant eyebrow. “I mean, yeah. I… encouraged… him into a position to take the Mark of Cain. Don’t pretend for a minute that he even blinked, Sam. He didn’t even ask about it. Not once. He didn’t ask for the side effects, didn’t want to see the warning label. He just said to bring it on. And that was before you told him you weren’t brothers anymore and you’d just leave him to die.”

“What?” Sam had been in the process of pulling out his laptop. Now he paused to stare at Crowley. “I never said that.” 

“He says you did. Well, he says you did about three quarters into a bottle of Jack. Vile stuff, Jack.” The shorter man sat at the table. “He was quite broken up about it, too.”

“Heh. Maybe he should have thought about that before he hung a for-rent sign out on me. He didn’t mention that part, did he?” He waited while the laptop and the network made their connection. “All right. So, what did you hear in the next room when Dean went missing?” 

“What do you mean what did I hear? I didn’t hear signs of a struggle, if that’s what you meant.” 

“Did you hear him talking to anyone? Male, female, other? Was he on the phone? Is his phone still in there?” He pulled out his own phone and dialed Dean’s number, both gratified and petrified to hear “Smoke On The Water” ringing out from the other room. “Right. So he brought his wallet and condoms, not his phone. He had a date. What can you tell me about the case you’re working on?”

“Wouldn’t he have left notes?” The dark head tilted to the side in an almost angelic gesture. Sam shivered. 

“No. Dean’s crap at notes.”

“Must be why he keeps you around then.” 

“No, he doesn’t tell me much. Doesn’t trust me. All right. What is it that got you involved with this case, anyway? I thought you were all caught up in the whole Hell election thing. What’s up with that, anyway? Democracy in Hell? Seriously?” 

The semi-deposed king shrugged. “Why not? Abaddon may be scary but she doesn’t have hearts and minds. I’m a good ruler.” 

“You hate it, though. You hate the bureaucracy, you hate the underlings. It’s not fun for you.” He shook his head, letting his fingers do the walking as he searched.

“Yes, but Hell has become so much more than it was. So much better. She wants to make it what it was under Azazel. I don’t want that. You don’t want that.” He paused. “Wait a minute, how do you even know about the election?” 

“I got a spam email about it. Actual spam mail. No joke.” He exchanged a glance with his companion and huffed out the semi-chuckle that passed for humor with him these days. It was a screwed up world where the closest he got to laughing was with Crowley.

“I knew we should have done something about making the network accessible by blood,” he groused. “We’re just enabling you.”

He shrugged. “It’s got to be good for something, I guess.” 

Crowley waved a finger at him. “You don’t get a vote, Moose.”

“Unlike the actual US elections, I don’t mind missing out on this one.”

“This one has more of an impact on your actual life.”

“Even so. Give me the details. You said businessmen who are having bad years are dying and there’s been an outbreak of mice.” 

“Yes. It was the Hanta virus that caught my attention – I thought it might be demonic, you know? And there was a vague whiff of sulfur, but it wasn’t quite right. I called Dean in, figuring that the pair of you would come in and deal with it but he came alone.” He made a face.

“You actually asked for me?” Sam felt kind of flattered.

“Not as such. Usually you’re a package deal.”

Right. It had been silly to think of, and really, even thinking that Crowley’s consideration was a good thing said more about his loneliness than anything else. If Dean could have just let him go none of this would even remotely be a problem. “Okay. So Dean showed up alone. What did you find?” 

“We went to six victims’ homes. All of them had gotten very greedy. They’d started to become acquisitive, started to hoard things. One of their wives – widows – said that he had actually been stingier with money than he’d ever been in his life, but it hadn’t helped him. They’d all been losing money hand over fist before they died, and the widows are basically destitute.”

Sam winced. “That’s awful.” 

“Yeah, and two of them have outbreaks of Hanta virus to pay for. Carried in by the mice, you know. All six of them had sudden mouse infestations. I have to say that I’ve never seen anything like it.” He shook his head and a glass of Scotch appeared in his hand. “Fancy a drink?” 

“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, Crowley.” He sighed. “Tell me about the feather.”

The demon walked into Dean’s room. “Is any of this sounding at all familiar to you?” he called. “Because I can tell you it’s not a demon.” 

“If there’s something the Men of Letters have managed to teach me from beyond the grave,” he told Crowley, “it’s that there is a huge great big wide wonderful world of creepy that we haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of. But I think I know where to start looking. I’m reasonably certain that there’s a woman involved.”

“Why?” Crowley came back into the room, carrying the feather. 

Sam took it from his hands. “Because Dean disappeared on a date with someone, and if I’m right the creature you’re hunting is always female.” He shook his head. “So either she drugged him – not likely, since he tends to be alert for things like roofies apparently – or she’s the creature we’re looking for and she whammied him somehow.”

“He really worries about roofies?” 

“Yeah. We had a really illuminating talk on the subject on our last case after he ate some roofied pudding.”

Crowley considered. “Do I even want to know?” 

Sam remembered a warehouse full of creatures he’d helped to put there. For a moment, just a moment, he imagined Marisa in one of those cells. “Probably not,” he lied. “But it wasn’t that bad outside, you know, the case. I was undercover as a yoga instructor.” 

The smaller man burst into laughter. “You? Moose, I had no idea you practiced.” 

“Oh yeah. Took it up years ago. Someone I was dating thought it would help with my anger.” He half-smiled. “Anyway, turns out I’m not such a good teacher. I forget that other people haven’t had thirty years in John Winchester’s Army.” 

“I think you’ve got a few other advantages, Sam – but they probably don’t want them anyway,” he added when Sam glowered. Anyway, what’s that book there?”

“ _Yasnas _,” he replied. “It’s a hunch.” He played with the feather a little bit, sniffed it. He could indeed smell the sulfur but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was just as much as clung to his own blood – repulsive, enough to be noticed, but not fully demonic and certainly not indicative of someone as powerful as Abaddon. “The feather doesn’t feel right,” he commented after a moment. “It’s… it feels like someone glued a bunch of fur into the right places, you know?”__

“Mmm,” Crowley grunted. “You can read Old Iranian?”

He’d learned to read a lot of things when he’d been looking through Lucifer’s eyes. “Most people, when they’re possessed, their minds shut out that whole experience, you know? It’s too painful, so they block it. That’s just with demons, never mind with angels. Never mind an archangel. Thanks to Castiel I didn’t get that option.”

His companion winced. “I tried to warn them against it, mate.” 

“I know. I remember. I appreciate that. Anyway, he knew Old Iranian. Now I know Old Iranian. Small favors, I guess. I don’t remember everything he knew, but some things. Kevin and I built a small database – we’re still populating it – and the parameters said that the most likely candidates would be in Iran. I think I have an idea of what we might be looking at. So. What pretext did Dean use to get close to the victims?”

Crowley thought about it. “FBI, I believe. Seems to be a favorite with you boys.”

“Dean thinks we look good in the suits. Is the CDC in town yet for the Hanta virus outbreak?” 

“No, I don’t believe so.” 

“All right. I want to confirm before I go in guns blazing –“ 

“Will a gun kill it then, mate?” 

“Uh, probably not.” He paused. “Do you already know where Dean is, Crowley?”

“No. I honestly wouldn’t do that to him and I wouldn’t do that to you, Moose. I need him too badly when I go after Abaddon to risk him on something stupid, and well, I’m just not going to do that to you. Let’s get down to business and find your brother.” 

Sam hesitated. He’d learned his lesson with Ruby. Of course, he’d worked with Meg too, and she’d actually been the first to possess him. “All right. Let’s do this. I’m absolutely positive that there’s going to have been a woman involved. This place is pretty nice, and pretty modern. That means that there will be security cameras in the hallways and in the elevators. If we can figure out who the woman involved is, we should be able to get a head start on finding her.”

“Through the security cameras?” Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Your brother said you didn’t know how to do that.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I didn’t. So he did it in front of me once. The guy thinks one trip to the Cage makes me a concussed bunny.” He shook his head as his fingers began to dance over the keyboard. “This will go a lot faster, Crowley, if you can get more details for me about the victims and the women in their lives. Are there any employees at their businesses who are the same? Are their any customers in common across the businesses? I’m thinking female and in an age range to appeal to Dean. If you can get me the names and addresses of their businesses that would be great.” 

The demon pretended to look affronted. “Are you suggesting that I actually do leg work?”

Sam snorted. “You got to be king of the crossroads somehow, Crowley.” 

His companion grinned and disappeared. Sam lost himself for the next hour in a sea of images. It had been a long time since he’d done this, poring over security footage. Of course, he knew the approximate time stamp that he was looking for, so he was able to fast-forward through the noise fairly easily. He slowed down when he saw his host appear on the screen, followed by his scowling brother. He fast-forwarded again until he saw someone approaching his brother’s room. The camera angles were kind of iffy but he was able to make a quick sketch of her before Crowley got back. 

Crowley re-appeared. “All right, Moose. I’ve got the victims’ names, employment data, the names of their mistresses, their customer records and their business addresses. I even stopped off at the hospital to look in on the little tykes.” Sam fixed him with a glare. “No, I didn’t make any deals for the children’s lives. I might have started negotiations for the soul of an aspiring young surgeon –“ 

“Crowley!” 

“But these things are delicate and they take time. What? I’m a demon, Sam. A crossroads demon, to be specific. It’s what I do. I make deals.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you don’t think that this will just scream our location – your location – to Abaddon?”

“Not if we can hurry up and get rid of your little rodent problem. Is that the girl in question?” 

“Possibly.” 

“She hardly looks like the mousy type,” Crowley observed. He was right. The woman was stunning. Sam supposed that if one was going to be a powerful supernatural being, one might as well go all out and be a beautiful one. “So what exactly do you think we’re looking for?” 

“If I’m right we’re probably looking for a _pari_. They’re related to djinn, but they’re not the same. The earliest stories list them as being quasi-demonic, later stories suggest that they operate in a more gray area.” He rolled his neck, gratified when Crowley winced. “There’s one story in particular that has some of them serving Azi, who incarnates greed. These _pari_ are described as ‘rat sorceresses’ and they’re described as the ‘witches of the bad year.’” His stomach growled then. 

Much to his surprise, Crowley shoved a Styrofoam container onto the table in front of him. “Here, eat up.” 

He opened it. “It’s an omelet,” he observed. “Spinach, mushrooms and goat cheese. Your brother told me you tended to forget things like meals. Tell me about these _pari_. You said they’re quasi-demonic. Not real demons, then?”

Sam poked at the omelet. It smelled delicious, and he had to admit that it was still warm. And it had been… well, a few days since he’d eaten. Could food from Crowley be trusted though? “No, not real demons. More like djinn. I mean, you can smell a little bit of sulfur on this thing but not enough to count. No more than you can smell in me I suppose.”

“Ah, you’re just not trying hard enough, Sam. Can they be killed?” 

“Life goals, I guess. Yeah. Uh, The hero Garsasp managed to kill one. It looks like he used a dragon-killing sword on it. Otherwise it says that you can imprison them in cages of iron.” 

“I’m a little short on both at the moment,” Crowley told him. “I could probably come up with a dragon killing sword –“

“I’ve got it covered.”

“What?”

“Assuming that Dean didn’t already figure it out – and I don’t think he would have because I’ve read Dad’s journal cover to cover and he never saw a _pari_ – there should be a dragon killing sword in the back of the Impala. We just need to figure out where she is and where she’s killing Dean.” He took a mouthful of the omelet. It was a pretty good omelet. It had been a long time since Sam had actually enjoyed the flavor of much of anything. 

“You’ve got a dragon-killing sword in the back of your car.” Crowley just stared.

“Yeah. Well, part of one. But it turns out that’s all you need to kill a dragon.”

“Dean killed a dragon with half a bloody sword.” 

“Er, no?” 

“You.”

“Yeah. I mean, look, it was right after they put my soul back, it’s not a big deal. I mean, you’d have done the same thing in the same circumstances.” 

“First day back from the dead and you go stabbing dragons with broken swords.” 

“Crowley, look. It’s not a big deal. It was a long time ago. No one cares, okay? Can we stay on task please?” He shook his head. “All right. I could probably hack into the security systems of all of these businesses and see if the same woman shows up on their footage but I don’t think that’s really productive, do you?”

“Could take days, and if they’re really losing all that much money they’ll start to skimp on security footage fairly early,” his comrade agreed. “It’s just as easy to go pop in for a visit. Your sketch should be good enough. Tell me more about these _pari_.” 

“I’m not really sure what else to tell you. We know how to kill them. They seem to have an independent consciousness, I guess they must be able to use magic of some kind. You sometimes see them in Sanskrit writings in which they seem to be a little more like what we’re used to dealing with – more like succubi or like – well, like Lilith, actually.” He showed Crowley an article from Encyclopaedia Iranica. “I mean, she’s gone. And I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with here because there’s not nearly enough sulfur at the scenes, right? Dean would have left some indication and there would have been sulfur here and there isn’t.” He got himself under control. “So I don’t think that’s the issue.”

“I would know if it were, and I’d have taken care of it. Go on.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam stared at it until he moved it again.

“By the time things are written in modern Persian we see them kind of becoming more benign, more like faerie or nymphs.” He shrugged. “Not really much to tell, although the faerie thing explains the iron. All right. Should we go?”

“Go?” 

“Try to figure out her pattern, where she might have gone, see what she might have done with my brother. There’s not a lot of detail.” He sighed. “First things first though. We need to stop at the Impala.”

Of course, they couldn’t go out and interview witnesses with Sam dressed in his usual Paul Bunyan costume. He changed into his suit in the bathroom before they headed out. Crowley sneered. “I can fix that up for you, Moose,” he offered as they walked down the hallway. “With the right tailoring a suit can be irresistible.” 

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Most women can’t resist a well-tailored suit.” 

“I’m not exactly careful with my clothes, Crowley. And I don’t care about that kind of thing anymore.” He side-eyed the demon. “Are you actually offering your services as a tailor?”

“I’ve still got it, you know. It’s been a while but I’ve still got it.”

“My life is weird, man.” He unlocked the trunk. Dean didn’t seem to have taken anything with him when he went on his date that he wouldn’t have kept with him normally. “Huh. He really wasn’t expecting much of a fight I guess.” He grabbed the remains of the dragon-slaying sword and an angel blade from the hidden compartment and stashed them in the secret compartments of his suit jacket before closing the trunk. Then he glanced at Crowley. “Just in case.” He scrawled a note for Dean: “Call Crowley,” and left it on the driver’s seat. “All right. Let’s roll.” 

Crowley moved to the passenger side door of the Honda. “Not going to take the rolling overcompensation?” 

He huffed. “No. That’s Dean’s car.” He opened the Honda. “He’s pissed enough at me without me touching his car when I don’t need to.” 

There was no rhyme or reason to the different types of businesses owned by the victims. They visited an insurance agency, a funeral home, a bakery, a bookstore, a tourist trap trying to benefit from nostalgia for Route 66 and a florist before moving on to the bar-and-grill that was last on the list. They got an inspection of the kitchen at the last place, and while Sam didn’t think that a kitchen inspection of a place that he knew had been hit with a supernaturally-inspired mouse infestation was likely to inspire confidence he found himself surprisingly willing to stay and grab a salad at the end of the day. They’d implemented surprisingly good rodent control techniques actually, relatively humane ones, and it wasn’t like Sam was even pretending to be from the health department. He was supposed to be worried about Hanta virus, nothing else. 

He and Crowley settled into their booth. Crowley side-eyed the bourbon the waitress had poured for him and it became Craig immediately. “All right, Moose. What do we have?”

“Data. Every one of those places has identified that woman as a customer.” He shrugged. “It’s worth checking her place out.”

“What, just waltz right on in?”

“Well, there’s usually a little more breaking and entering involved but yeah.” He shrugged. “That’s usually how it works.”

“Have you no scruples?” 

He chuckled mirthlessly. “You made a point of hunting down the people we saved and murdering them just because we saved them.” 

“Self-defense. Besides, I’m a bloody demon. I’m supposed to be unscrupulous. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re kind of evil.” 

He sipped from his drink. “Yeah, well, what’s the real difference between us and you? Me and you, anyway.” He opened up the laptop.

“You mean, besides the fact that you’re human? Human-ish, anyway?” Crowley frowned. “What’s going on with you, Moose?” 

“Nothing’s going on with me, Crowley. “ He sipped his beer and smiled when the waitress brought their meals over. “Why?”

“Why’d you tell Dean you aren’t brothers anymore, then?” “That’s not what I said, Crowley.” He shook his head and poked at the salad. “What Dean did… there’s nothing worse. And he thinks that I should be grateful. I mean, how do you even respond to that? I can’t trust him, you know? He’s still my brother. I still love him. I’ll still find him. I mean, I’m here aren’t I? And I’ll save him. But I can’t trust him.”

“He did save your life,” Crowley pointed out. 

“Great. It’s done the world so much good.” He made a face. “Every time he does this shit the world gets more fucked up. You’d think he’d have taken the hint after Cold Oak, you know?” He poked at the salad again. “And there are lines that just shouldn’t be crossed. If he can just go ahead and give consent for me, am I even a person? And you know what? You were there. You were right there. You heard him. ‘None of it is true.’ ‘Is that really what you think?’ I’m sitting there and I’m telling him that it’s killing me that he’s so eager to trust an angel over me, a vampire over me, he tells me it isn’t true and what does he go and do? Not two days later he goes and crams a goddamn angel into me. I didn’t think there was anything I could hate more than I hate demons, Crowley.” He laughed a little. “Turns out I do.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe they have better press.” The mostly-deposed king smirked. “I may be a bastard but I honor my bargains.” 

“You do. Anyway. We’ll find him. I’ll find him. Head back to the hotel and change, and then head out. I don’t know if you’ll want to come with me.”

“I like to protect my investments, Sam.” He bit into his burger. “This isn’t half bad.” 

They finished their meals quickly, or rather Crowley finished his meal while Sam poked at his. He wasn’t feeling terribly hungry. They paid and left. Sam changed into something more comfortable for fighting in and headed back out to the common customer’s house. They took the Impala this time, just in case – there was no sign that anyone had been near her in the time they’d been gone, and Sam felt pretty strongly about having more weapons at his disposal if at all possible. “I never knew Dean gave you a key to this thing, Sam,” Crowley observed as they set out. 

“He didn’t. I had a copy made when he went to Hell, way back when. Kept it all these years. It comes in handy.” 

They drove in silence for a few minutes. “So. You really hate angels more than us?” his companion wanted to know.

“Oh yeah. Familiarity, I guess. Demons’re nicer. More honest.” He cracked half a grin. “Maybe my expectations were just lower.”

“There’s that.” He paused. “What will you do if we find your brother alive?”

“Patch him up. Leave. He came out here to work with you, Crowley. He doesn’t want me around. I think this is it.” 

They parked a couple of blocks away – if this got messy Sam didn’t want to have the Impala stick out in any nosy neighbors’ memories. The house was a small ranch house on the outskirts of town and on a half-acre lot it wasn’t exactly difficult to sneak up to it. There were lights in the living room windows – the resident was apparently watching television. Sam got down and prepared to open a basement window but Crowley shook his head. “Lummox,” he muttered, putting a hand on his arm. The next thing Sam knew they were in the basement. Sam had to crouch to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He might not like angels as a general rule but at least they’d taught him to bend his knees when teleporting – otherwise he’d have knocked himself out. He could hear the skittering of the mice down here, mice and worse. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an angel blade, passing it to Crowley. He didn’t know if it would work but it was worth a shot. Then he drew the dragon-killing sword, because like Hell he was giving that to anyone else.

He heard movement upstairs. 

He gestured to his partner to search the basement on the left side. Sam took the right side. The space had a lot of junk – mostly up on top of tables, with things covered by cloths. Multiple scents clogged the air. Critters nested down here – mice and rats from the sound of it – and no one seemed terribly concerned about cleaning up their dirty business. Fortunately or unfortunately they found no sign of Dean down here – only the occasional rotting piece of corpse or old decorative furnishing, and Sam honestly wasn’t sure if there was much of a line between the two. He signaled to Crowley. There was nothing else for it; they’d have to go upstairs. 

Slowly they crept up the stairs, pausing at the top to listen carefully. He heard the television on in the living room. That didn’t mean that the _pari_ was in the living room, of course. He pulled the dragon-slaying sword out and prepared. The odds that they were going to be able to get in and out without bloodshed just decreased by about a thousand to one. Crowley stalked in behind him, angel blade at the ready. The stairs let them out in a space between the kitchen and what looked like a general-purpose room. The kitchen looked fairly standard – small, not terribly fancy, but not outstanding in its decrepitude. It would have been perfectly adequate if not for the mice openly frolicking on the counters or the rats in the corner. Crowley made a face and the men crept into the room between the kitchen and the rest of the house. 

That’s when the _pari_ saw them. They couldn’t very well avoid her. She’d been seated in a recliner watching television when they stepped into the room and even though they were of course silent she was alert to the movement. Her eyes – huge and brown and beautiful – widened in alarm. “Hunters!” she hissed as she sprang to her feet. 

She moved faster than the eye could see and suddenly she stood before Sam. Crowley had disappeared. “How did you get in here?” she spat at the hunter, looking up at him in fury. Like a djinn her arms bore tattoos that glowed faintly in the dim lighting. These were red rather than blue, though; he wondered what the significance might be.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked her, stepping back slightly and holding his blade at the ready. He didn’t want to kill her, not until he had the information he needed. He’d rather not kill her at all, actually, except for that whole killing people thing. She was beautiful, and her voice like a perfect chord even when she growled her words in anger.

“What, the foolish hunter with the brand? You came here for him?” The woman smirked. “Come on, now, mortal. You can do so much better than that. You can’t be going up against a _pari_ alone just for the sake of him?”

“So you do have him, then?” 

“I might have seen him.” 

“What did you want with him?” he asked her, meeting her eyes. “I saw that you went into his hotel room.” Maybe she was beautiful. He’d met plenty of beautiful women, human and non-human. 

“What do you think I wanted with him? _Pari_ are female. All _pari_ are female. We need to reproduce somehow.” She looked him up and down slowly. “You, though, you’re pretty too.”

Sam made a face. “Eeuw. What is it with Dean and monster babies, anyway?”

“Who are you calling a monster? I’ll have you know that my species predates yours.” She sniffed. “I’d be especially careful about throwing that label around if I were you, sulfur-boy.” 

Crowley appeared behind her. “I’d be careful about that, love. He’s a bit touchy. Your brother’s in the bedroom, Moose.” 

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped in and stabbed with the sword. Her smooth flesh gave easily under the enchanted metal. She looked up at him as blood poured from her mouth, shocked. “Impossible,” she gasped. 

Sam pulled the blade out and wiped it on her clothes before letting the corpse fall to the floor. Her wings were visible now, small compared to an angel’s and almost furry.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. Let’s get to your brother.” The rodents were already approaching the body. Sam knew he didn’t want to watch that. 

Sam followed his companion to one of the bedrooms and turned on the light. There, chained to a bed frame, was Dean. The older brother was filthy and covered in bites, bruises and cuts. He was unconscious and did not react when Sam brushed a hand against his bare skin. “He feels like he’s on fire,” he noted. “He needs to get to a hospital.” 

“Send a shout out to Feathers,” the demon suggested instead. “I think he’d feel more comfortable with that, don’t you?” 

Sam grunted. “Let’s get him back to the Impala,” he said. Crowley was right – if they could get the fever down it was probably safer to have Dean healed outright rather than subject him to hospitalization, where he’d have to answer questions about how this had happened to him. Crowley grabbed his arm and Dean and in a moment all three of them were back at the car. Sam grabbed Dean before he could fall onto the ground and unlocked the car. “Help me get him belted in back here,” he said.

Crowley gestured and a sheet appeared over the bench seat. “Never say I never gave you anything,” he muttered, recoiling at the filth all over the older hunter. “Let’s get going.”

“What about the _pari_?”

“The house is already in flames as we speak. Azazel wasn’t the only demon who could do fun things with fire.” He chuckled. “There won’t be any evidence left that Squirrel was even there.” 

Sam broke several laws, traffic and possibly physics, en route back to the Hampton Inn. Crowley ensured that prying eyes didn’t become an issue as they returned to the room and even Sam had to admit that having him around was proving to be pretty darned useful on this particular trip. He bundled Dean into the bathtub and started filling it with cold water while calling the angel, who answered immediately. “Sam!” he greeted. “What is wrong?”

He briefly considered asking if it was that impossible for him to make a social call. Then he remembered that he’d been equally suspicious of Crowley and that no one wanted or expected social calls from him. “Dean’s hurt and sick. I think he needs you, man. We’re with Crowley, room 231 in the Hampton Inn in Tucumcari, New Mexico.” 

There was a dark little pause. “Crowley? Seriously?” 

“I know. I’ll explain when you get here. It’s a long and weird story and I’m not sure that I get it, but he could use your touch and frankly he could use a friend right now.” He sighed.

“He has you, Sam.” 

“Yeah. He’s not going to be so enthusiastic about that when he wakes up.”

“I can be there in ten hours, Sam.” 

“Thanks, Cas. I’ll be here when you get here.” They hung up. When the tub was about half full he turned off the water and finished stripping Dean off. It wasn’t as though Dean had ever been particularly body-shy around him, not the way Sam was, but somehow it didn’t feel right to display him this way. Not to Crowley, and not even to Sam. Not the way things were now. He asked his companion to bring him ice from the machine and bundled Dean into the tub, soaping up the washcloth and scrubbing as gently as he could. This was something Dean had done for him more than once. He’d been forced to be Sam’s caregiver when still really a toddler himself, bathing and feeding Sam and even changing his diapers. Sam had never actually been responsible for bathing anyone else, except maybe mopping up his college buddies after a rough night. He’d always wanted to take care of Dean when he needed it but he didn’t really know how. Well, this was his chance to learn. He scrubbed the mouse turds out of Dean’s beautiful dark-blond hair, recoiling at the smell of the urine. He carefully scrubbed every inch of Dean’s body, covering his nether regions with a second washcloth so Crowley wouldn’t see more than he had to. When the water was befouled he drained it out and re-filled with more cold water, even after the task of washing and rinsing was complete. Only when Dean’s temperature had fallen to about a hundred degrees did Sam finally take him out and towel him off, carrying him into the bedroom and dressing him in clean sweats before tucking him into bed.

“You’re repulsively good at that,” Crowley observed from behind his left shoulder. “You should read him a story. Your little moose calves will have an excellent sire.”

“Moose calves. Cute.” There would be no more Winchesters. Not from Sam, anyway. “Not exactly the paternal type.”

“I suppose we have that in common. You just figured it out in time.” 

He glanced at his glass. “Yeah, well, I had the added incentive of really terrible genes to never ever pass on.” 

Dark eyes looked him up and down. “I don’t know. A lot of people would pay good money for those genes. Giant, genius, handsome –“ 

“Genetically engineered to be Satan’s true vessel on earth,” he supplied. “Part demon, that’s a real draw. I’d bet that’d be a real plus on my OK Cupid profile.”

“Is that the site you’re using?” The corners of Crowley’s lips twitched and he poured Sam a glass of Scotch. 

“I’m pretty sure incarnating Lucifer, even briefly, gets you banned for life from ChristianMingle.com.” He had to admit that Crowley had a taste for the good stuff. “So what’s next for the two of you?”

“I’m still trying to find the First Blade. Once we have it we track down Abaddon. You get that getting rid of her doesn’t just benefit me and Hell, right?” 

He sighed. “Sure. I mean, if I’d managed to seal the gates up she wouldn’t be an issue at all. It’s one more of my messes that Dean feels he needs to clean up.”

“Woah – is that what you really think?” He put his glass down on the table. “Moose – Sam – listen. If the thing that was listed as ‘closing the gates of Heaven’ cast all of the angels out of Heaven, you have no idea what would have happened if Hell had been closed. You know what you think would have happened. Hell, I thought it would seal us all up too, but in hindsight we have no bloody clue. That slippery little weasel of an angel has shown us that nothing he wrote down can be trusted. For all we know everyone could have been vomited out of Hell like a bad night at Studio 54.”

Sam grimaced at the image. “I take it you’ve…” 

“Witnessed exactly that, yes. You’d have thrown your life away and made things even worse in the process. You can’t know for sure. No one can. You can’t blame yourself for backing out of the Trials, all right? Maybe you would have gotten your wish, but when has anything happened the way Winchesters want it to?” 

He looked up and gave half a grin. “You’ve got a point.”

“Letting her out of cement might not have been the best plan. Of course, I didn’t exactly give you a whole lot of choices there, did I?” He grimaced in disgust. “I swear I’m getting soft in my old age.” 

“Not that soft. You manipulated Dean pretty well into taking the Mark of Cain.”

“Still a demon, Moose.”

“True.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. “You know what your problem is?” Crowley asked him after a moment.

“Stealing a car that fits?” 

The semi-deposed king considered this. “You know what your other problem is? You’ve never had any problem finding something to die for. You’d trade your life for a sandwich if someone else were a little peckish. The problem is that even when you’ve been all about revenge, you’ve never had much interest in living beyond your revenge. You’ve never found anything to live for.” 

Sam thought about this for a moment. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. 

Crowley blinked. “Just like that?”

“Like it’s news to anyone? I mean, you were right there in that church. And it’s not like my life’s been a great big secret, like I’ve had any privacy. Ever.” He shrugged. “You’ve been in my head, for crying out loud.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” 

“There isn’t much to do about it, Crowley. I’m going to wait until Cas gets here and then I’m going to go back to the bunker. It’s not like I’ve got anyplace else to go.” 

A groan from the other room brought him back to his feet and to Dean’s side just as green eyes fluttered open. “Ibuprofen,” Sam advised, gently helping his older sibling into a sitting position. “And water.”

“Sam? What the hell are you doing here?” Dean rasped blearily. 

“Relax. I’m just here until Cas gets here, then I’ll be out of your hair. Take the ibuprofen.” 

Dean took the pills, more out of habit than for any other reason, and he accepted the water Sam passed to him. “This isn’t your case.” 

“Nope.” He backed off once he was sure Dean was stable and not going to choke. “How you feeling?”

“Like you care,” the blond spat. 

Sam bit his lip. “Look. I’m here, okay? I’m here, you’re safe.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to save me but it’s not okay for me to save you all of a sudden?”

Sam got up and went back into Crowley’s room. “Dean’s awake, if you want to talk to him.” 

“I suppose you had a touching little heart to heart.” 

“He’d rather I weren’t here. I’ll take off once Cas gets here.” He looked away.

“He lashes out when he’s angry.”

“I’m aware.” He folded his lips. “It’s okay. It’ll take Cas a little while but he’ll be here eventually.”

Crowley rose and went into the other room. Sam did not listen. Instead he took out his phone, his laptop being in the other room, and checked his messages. Nothing. Well, he hadn’t actually expected anything. It wasn’t as though he had any contacts outside of Crowley and Cas, both of whom were Dean’s friends anyway. And Jody Mills, who still seemed to want to lie low after her encounter with Vesta. And Garth – again, Dean’s friend, which was fine by Sam. He didn’t like the hugging. He checked his news feed. There wasn’t anything interesting. 

Crowley returned. “I think your brother’s eggs are a little scrambled,” he objected. “I’m going out. I’ll be back.” The demon disappeared. Sam slumped against his chair. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to brave Dean’s room again if he wanted to have anything to do to keep himself awake. His books were in there. His laptop was in there. Everything was in there. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep now. When all of this was over and he was back at the bunker he could pick a chair and fall asleep in it. 

He hoisted himself to his feet and strode into the invalid’s room. “You look like shit,” Dean commented. 

“I’m just here to get my laptop and books,” he replied, holding his hands up. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

“Running away again, like you always do.” 

Sam exhaled. Dean was sick. He was running a fever, possibly a supernaturally induced fever, and he was in pain. “Are you asking me to stay with you, Dean?” 

“I’m saying that you always run away from your family. That we don’t mean anything to you.” 

“Dean –“ “Shut up. I’m talking to you. I’ve given up so much for you, and you don’t appreciate any of it. You’re alive because of me, Sam. Because of me!” 

“So what, Dean? What good does that do anyone? What good does that do me? We’ve already established that I’d rather not be. You knew that I didn’t want you to bring me back, you knew I was willing and ready to die back before Dad died. You just didn’t care.” 

“I figured you’d get over your bitch fit, Sam.”

The brunet gave a little laugh. “I was literally created to destroy, Dean. My entire existence – my very being – causes harm. You know this. If I can go out doing something good, something right, why can’t you let me have that? You – you find meaning in hunting. It gives your life purpose and that’s great for you. You know that I’ve never found any purpose in hunting, I’ve always hated it.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go again.” 

“Yeah, you know why we keep going here again, Dean? Because Dad never listened to it and neither do you. You’ve turned into Dad, you know that? You’ve turned into Dad – you can’t listen to anyone but yourself, and what you say always goes. You can’t even begin to understand why what you did to me was wrong, Dean.” He knew he shouldn’t get drawn in, but he couldn’t resist Dean’s sniping. He just couldn’t. It was like his words managed to worm their way right into his skull and find the right button to set him off. 

“It wasn’t wrong. I saved your ass.”

“You violated me on every level. You held me down for an angel. You knew that I’d never allow that, I heard you say that. I saw it in Gadreel’s memories. You helped an angel to steal my body, my mind and my soul from me.” He felt tears welling up and fought them back, because he couldn’t let Dean see them. Not ever again. “My body’s never really belonged to me, Dean. There’s always been someone who thought they owned it, whether it was Azazel or Meg or Lucifer or Castiel or some guy in a clown suit. Even Dad, in a lot of ways. But there was always one person that I thought I could trust, that I believed would always have my back. That was you. When Cas destroyed my mind – for no reason, other than to get to you – you made yourself stone number one. I built my entire reality around you, my ability to trust in you. And that’s gone, because it turns out you’re just as bad as all of the rest of them. You think I’m a piece of meat too, property to rent out to the lowest bidder. What that does to me doesn’t matter. You were more worried about Kevin and getting revenge for Kevin than you were about me recovering from the freaking metal spikes stuck in my head. “Back in that church I told you how much it broke me that you trusted an angel over me, and not two days later what did you do? You crammed one of those filthy winged things into me. Two days, Dean. Do you think I don’t remember how often you had Gadreel shut me down to do angel things?

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be possessed by an angel, Dean? No. You don’t. There’s a reason that I hate them. I spent centuries with two of them, or did you forget that? I don’t even dream in English, Dean. I don’t think in English anymore. And the things they did to me –“ 

“You act like I never went to Hell. I did. I went to Hell. For you. I didn’t deserve it but I went. For you!” Dean yelled. “How can you even forget that?”

“You should never have made that deal. I told you that at the time. It wasn’t worth it. And even before you went you said you didn’t want to go, so you sure as hell regretted it. I never wanted you to bring me back, Dean, and you should have known that. You should have known that because you knew how it felt when Dad did it to you.” 

“And then you went and pissed all over my sacrifice by whoring around with Ruby,” he continued. 

“Which I did because I was trying to get you out!” Sam shouted. “That’s why I started, anyway. I’m so not going there again with you. Either you think I’ve paid for it or you don’t; obviously you don’t because you keep bringing it up.” He got himself under control. “Look. I don’t even know what we’re trying to accomplish here. You’ve never trusted me, I don’t trust you –“

“Then why are you even here?” Dean looked away. 

“Crowley called. He said you’d missed your check-in so I drove down.”

“So what if I missed check-in? Why do you care? You said you’d just let me die.” 

“That’s not what I said at all. You’re getting old. You need your hearing checked. I said ‘same circumstances.’ That means that if I knew you were ready and accepting, if I knew you wanted to go. That means that what I would not do is trick you into being violated by the being you hate most in the world, a being you’ve already got a long and traumatic history with. It does not mean that I won’t do everything in my power to help you while you want to live, while I can keep you alive while preserving your autonomy. I love you too much to ignore your right to consent. I’m sure as hell not going to leave you tied up in some rat- _pari_ ’s den to be eaten by rodents even if it comes to that; there’s no need for you to suffer like that no matter what.” 

“A what now?” Dean adjusted himself on the bed. “All I remember is going home with this really hot chick.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean had successfully deflected the conversation; he hadn’t accepted responsibility for what he’d done or even acknowledged Sam’s feelings. “A _pari_. They’re related to djinn. This particular _pari_ served Azi, or Greed, hence the rodents. It had nothing to do with Abaddon.”

“So did Crowley know how to kill it?” 

“No. But I figured it out.” 

“Oh. Well once I get back on my feet –“

“It’s taken care of, Dean.” 

He paused. “Oh.” 

“She, uh, she wanted you to make, uh, little baby _paris_.” 

Dean thought for a moment. “Um… so, I might have…” 

“Not going to be a problem.”

“Right.” He paused. “So how do you kill a _pari_?”

“Dragon killing sword works.” 

He slumped against the headboard. “Damnit! Am I ever going to get to use that thing?”

Sam almost laughed. “Your time will come.” 

“You let Crowley have it! I’ll never get to –“ 

“Actually I didn’t.”

“Oh.” He paused. “So you got the call, rolled on into town, solved the case, killed the monster and rescued me in twenty four hours?”

Sam checked the clock. It had been about twenty-three, actually. “Yeah. More or less. I mean, Crowley was involved. I’m sure you would have figured out what it was eventually and everything. I just had the information right there, because I was in the bunker and stuff.” 

Dean thought about it for a moment. “How come Crowley couldn’t find me by himself?” 

And of course it wasn’t good enough that Sam had managed to solve the case. Of course. It wasn’t even okay that Sam had managed to solve the case or that Sam had saved Dean. Sam’s foul presence was contaminating Dean, that was all. “The hex bag I made for you back before I jumped was still keeping you off the radar. If you want Crowley to be able to find you you’ll have to burn it or leave it in the glove box or something. I’m sorry I made it necessary for him to call me in, but it’s not like we could have really anticipated this, okay?” 

“Jesus, Sam, I just asked.” Dean glowered. “I’m tired.” 

“Okay.” Sam took his books and his laptop and returned to Crowley’s room. Dean went back to sleep. 

Castiel arrived a few hours later. “You look tired,” he told Sam. “When did you last sleep?” 

“I’ll sleep when I get back to the bunker,” Sam replied. “He’s sick and I just get him worked up.”

“What happened?” 

Sam sighed. “Dean got… lost… on a hunt. Crowley called me in to help find him, so I did. He’s not really happy about my being here, so I’m just going to head on out.” 

“He’s working with Crowley? On purpose?”

“Oh yeah. That. I’ll let him explain that, I don’t think I can quite do it justice.” He smirked. “Give me a call if you need anything, okay, Cas?” 

“You as well, Sam. You must take better care of your body.” 

“Yeah, you never know who might want to borrow it next. See ya, Cas.” 

He drove straight through to the bunker. When he arrived he crawled into his bed with its extra angel warding and its Key of Solomon bedding. Before he passed out, the exhaustion catching up to him at last, he checked his messages and found a text from Castiel. “I have seen the Mark,” the angel announced. “There are no words.” 

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “I know.” One more “benefit” to his continued existence.


End file.
